Merry Christmas Sweetheart
by JackAddict
Summary: Tony and Michelle remember their Christmasses apart while finally being back together. Post season 4. Formerly called Past and Present Christmas


**A/N: **This is an edited version of this story. It has lots more angst in it than what I first uploaded - what can I say, I'm a sucka for angst - and reviews ;-)

Snowflakes. Airy white crystals glided from the grey sky towards the already snow-covered ground. Michelle's eyes followed a large snowflake on its way down, trying to single it out from its companions. It flew slowly, without any haste, with no wind to force it to rush along its path. As graceful as its fall was, the snowflake was still cold, white and frozen, and it instantly lost its individuality as it hit the pavement, joining billions of other crystals that had already ended up on Central Park's walkways.

Michelle, seated on a blue napa leather couch, in a rented cottage up in Monterey, looked away from the TV screen, leaving New York and its snowflakes for a second, while she pulled the red woolen cover over her shoulder and sat on her feet, her legs pulled underneath her. For some reason, she was suddenly feeling very cold; and even more so since Tony had gone into the kitchen to put on some tea, leaving her alone on the couch, without his body warmth. Right now, it seemed to her he had been gone forever. Wrapping herself up in the blanket even more, she called his name: "Tony?"

"Yeah?" came the instant answer from the kitchen.

"What's taking so long?" asked Michelle, impatiently. She couldn't see him and she had noticed that this fact alone was already making her feel uneasy.

"I'll be right there, sweetheart. I've only been gone for a minute." Tony replied, then chuckled. "You just can't get enough of me, can ya?"

She looked across the room, saw his back behind the kitchen door; he was pouring water into mugs. He wore a dark blue turtleneck and black trousers, his watch was partly visible underneath his left sleeve.

"I've missed you, that's all." Michelle said quietly but he heard her. Tony took the mugs into his hands, walking over to the couch, and handed one mug to her. "Here. That should warm you up." he smiled, kissing the top of her head.

"Thanks." Michelle took the cup into both her hands, holding it, while Tony put his mug on the coffee table, then sat next to her, starting to gently rub her shoulders. "I missed you too." he whispered to her.

Michelle closed her eyes, relaxing more and more with each movement of Tony's hands, yet his eyes wandered to the corner of the room where their Christmas tree stood, decorated in red and silver; it was a modest tree, maybe five feet tall, but it didn't need to be of an impressive height to bear the importance that it did: it felt like it was their first Christmas tree. It wasn't, really: they had spent three years and just as many Christmases together after they first met and got married and Michelle had put it into words well when she stated that those three years had been the best years of her life - they were Tony's most pleasant memories, too, beyond any doubt, incomparably more pleasant than anything that happened since then, Tony had decided long ago.

The look in Tony's eyes grew distant as he continued staring towards the tree, but he was not looking at it any longer. As if controlled by some unstoppable force, his thoughts determinedly returned to a small, dark space that he did not want to go to, but which made him crawl back to it every now and then anyway.

"Wake up, Lieutenant! It's Christmas!" a rough male voice called, coarsely chasing away Tony's sleep. And with it went the image of Michelle, the image that Tony had learned to build before his eyes before falling asleep and had practiced trying to keep with him throughout the night since Day One.

As Michelle's face disappeared, Tony turned in the cot to lie on his back. "Son of a bitch..."

"Now, that's some nice Christmas spirit!" Bob, a grey-haired man in his fifties grunted, tossing Tony an orange-colored garment, which landed on Tony's face. "Better get dressed, Lieutenant, maybe Santa was here last night." Bob was wearing a white T-shirt and white boxers but was barefoot as he sprang to his feet, to the grey concrete floor. On his cot, which was above Tony's, lay an orange jumpsuit, and Bob took it, beginning to get dressed.

"Oh, shut up." Tony whispered, actually grunted, more to himself, grabbing his own hideous piece of clothing, freeing his face from it, and, in one flowing movement of his legs, he sent the grey blanket to the end of the bed and over the edge. Reluctanly, he sat, slowly forcing his legs and then the rest of his body inside the jumpsuit, then stood, zipping it up. And not too soon: a second later, a tall, blond man in a dark uniform patrolled the catwalk in front of the cell. He peered in on his way past Tony and Bob, paused by the barred door for just one second, his hand on the nightstick on his side, then continued on his morning route.

Tony had purposely avoided making eye contact with the guard, but also took care not to fix his eyes on Bob while the guard walked past the cell. He had learned the hard way that no one on the prison's payroll needed much invitation to suspect conspiracy, contraband, or order a cell search, and he really didn't need that today. His memories of much loved Christmas celebrations with Michelle were torturous enough.

As the guard passed and left, Tony once again looked at Bob. He was sure that Bob wasn't his cell mate's real name, but everyone in prison addressed him like that, and Tony hadn't really cared enough to try and dig any deeper into Bob's past. Before prison, maybe, but now?...

"Tell me something, Bob. If Santa really existed, I mean, _really_; ya think he'd waste his time coming to a hole like this one?" Tony uttered, as he made his bed quickly, then stood by the door of the cell, waiting for it to open and let them out. Even though he'd never admit it, his stomach was howling for food, and even something as irrecognizable as maximum security prison food was starting to feel like nutrition by now.

"I don't know, Lieutenant. But it seems to me like he couldn't bring you what you wish for anyway."

Tony's eyes lingered on the man for a second, before he faced the door again. _Yeah._ he thought to himself, but didn't reply. The only thing he wished for was Michelle. But he knew she wouldn't come. Division had sent her to Seattle on some assignment, she couldn't - or wouldn't - tell him what it was, and to be honest, he didn't want to know, either. Thinking of CTU, Division, assignments, only reminded him of who he used to be and it was the last thing he needed. On the Inside, he had to keep his wits about him at all times, not be distracted and take it day after day if he wanted to survive his sentence. Sometimes he wondered why bother, but it was always Michelle's face that gave him all the answers. She was the only reason he wanted to live for; it was for her he wanted to survive prison; it was to her that he wanted to come back.

There was a buzz announcing that the cell doors were about to open and Tony yanked the image of Michelle out of his mind. Thinking of her was reserved for the hours in the cell, the privacy - as far as that was possible in prison - because he knew daydreaming would just distract him and cause him to be a little less careful and alert than he had to be, which, when surrounded by scum of a maximum security prison could prove dangerous.

On their way to the mess hall, Bob let Tony walk in front of him. Tony held his eyes on the back of the head of the inmate in front of him, but all his other senses were sharpened, expecting the usual trouble. To the inmates, he was a Fed, to the guards, a Fed gone bad, and a traitor to all of them. No-one seemed to care if he lived to see the end of his sentence or died an untimely death and they made sure he felt it every day.

In the three months since the two of them had been thrown in a cell together, Bob got to know his cell mate and his temperament quite well. Tony was constantly being pushed around by others, and there usually wasn't even peace in the row when they were all being walked together to the recreation yard or the mess hall. There would always be someone starting something, and, depending on his mood, Tony would be able to ignore them better or worse, but today, Bob felt that it wouldn't take much to provoke Tony, and walked behind him, shielding him from their cell neighbors. Maybe even the inmates felt the guards were more than pissed off at having to spend Christmas day with dozens of filthy prisoners instead of with their families, or maybe Christmas spirit somehow found its way into the bleak environment (Bob actually dismissed this second option instantly), either way, they got to the mess hall without a fight.

Tony's hands had long stopped moving, and just sat on Michelle's shoulders, but his mind jumped to the afternoon of that Christmas day in prison. Breakfast and lunch had been as tasteless as ever. The only difference to the normal food was the presence of a dry piece of stale stollen on the trays. Tony didn't even bother touching it, he had always hated stollen anyway, and he wasn't going take a chance with _this_ one.

After lunch, it was time for the recreation hour in the yard. Tony made sure to stay away from everyone, counting his steps as he walked back and forth close to a wall to the side.

"Yo, Fed!" a deep voice called from somewhere not too far away. Tony chose to ignore it at first and kept on walking.

"Hey Spic!" the same voice yelled again after a couple of seconds, and Tony instantly felt a knot in his stomach starting to tighten. Even after three months of being called that regularly, he still couldn't just brush it off. He stopped walking, and slowly turned in the direction of the voice, making sure the look in his eyes was dark and not in the least intimidated. Not eight feet away from him, The Shank, a two-hundred pound former gang leader from the Bronx was standing, his entourage of five gathered behind him, all glaring back at Tony with the same determination. The Shank was in for tripple murder, having stabbed to death his wife, after shooting her lover and her brother who was covering for her, keeping silent about the affair. And in prison, he had a reputation for making knives out of anything he got his hands on, hence the nickname, and everyone knew he was always armed with something.

_Figures_. Tony thought sourly. _Him of all people_, but then called out: "What?"

"Me and the guys thought you might be lonely today, what with Christmas and all." The Shank said through a wicked smile, gesturing towards his "gang", who nodded in response.

_Like a bunch of stupid, brainless idiots. You should call yourselves Obedient Dogs_, Tony thought, and would almost have chuckled at the sight if he hadn't guessed the group's interest in him meant nothing but trouble. Instead, he stood still and wordless, staring at them. He looked behind the group and saw that at least one guard had turned his attention to them. Whatever happened now would not go unnoticed.

"We know you miss yer biatch, what's her name again, Michelle?" the leader continued. In Tony's mind, red lights flashed instantly at hearing Michelle's name uttered, especially in this context.

"So, we got ya a gift." The Shank grinned, turning to the man standing directly behind him and took something from him. It appeared to be a folded piece of glossy paper, it looked like it had been torn out of a magazine, but Tony couldn't make out any details. The Shank held it out to Tony, expecting him to come and get it.

Tony glanced towards the guard for a moment, and with slight pleasure, noticed Bob had started talking to the guard, causing him to turn away. Knowing that there was no way he could not take a look at the "gift" and avoid an altercation, Tony sighed to himself and took two steps towards the group. He stopped in front of The Shank, their eyes locked for a second, then Tony took the paper out of the black man's hand. It felt like nothing was wrapped inside it, and Tony began to unfold it, not yet looking at it. As the paper was completely unfolded, he slowly lowered his eyes and looked at it.

Tony gasped inwardly when he realized what he was holding in his hand. Somehow, the gang had managed to obtain a photo from the security camera in the visitor room from the last time Michelle came to see him. They had cut out her head from the photo and propped it onto the head of a hooker in a cheap sex magazine. Michelle's face was now on a naked woman being done from behind by a man whose head was not in the picture, but his huge organ was. Tony had never felt this insulted in his whole life. If they had in fact raped him for real he would have actually felt less violated.

"You goddamned son of a bitch." Tony whispered in a menacing tone, anger flashing in his eyes. What he wanted was to smash the guy's head with a stone. The only thing that kept him from doing it was knowing how it would end but he felt himself unable to control himself much longer.

"Tony?" a soft, female voice called his name. It took Tony a couple of seconds to realize it was Michelle. She had huddled against him, her hand on the back of his head, she was holding him, and he was surprised to realize he had not noticed it. It took him a while to take his mind off the short fight that ensued before the guards attacked them and gave Tony a sound beating before trowing him in solitary for a week. The cut on his arm hadn't even been treated. Tony remembered wishing he could just bleed to death from it, but the wound refused to keep bleeding after a few hours and he eventually got to join Bob in the cell again after New Year's Day.

Gradually, Tony's thoughts returned to the present. His tea had gone cold, and he noticed that he was shivering. He put his hands on his arms, trying to stop it, hoping Michelle hadn't noticed. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry, did I miss the movie?" he uttered, still somewhat absently, as he noticed the TV had already been turned off.

"It's okay. They met after all. Serendipity." she said, echoing the movie's title, then kissed his hand gently. "Where were you?"

Tony paused for a long time before replying. "Just thinking."

Michelle's hand ran through Tony's hair while her eyes were set on him. "About what?"

Tony held her shoulders with both his hands and found her eyes. "Just how happy I am to be with you right now. Right here. Just the two of us and our Tree." he told her, kissing her nose. "That's the way I've always wanted it."

"Good." she smiled. "Because I wouldn't have had it any other way." _It was bad enough last year._

Last year, that was the second Christmas in a row that they had spent apart. The Homeland Security restructuring in Seattle was over and Michelle had come back to Los Angeles after Tony's release, but too soon, she had given up on him and left, no longer able to watch him attempt to drown everything in alcohol. She knew now that she hadn't been patient enough, but when she left Tony, there seemed to be no other way. Nothing she could say or do would make him stop doing what he was doing to himself, it wouldn't stop them from drifting apart more and more each day. She told herself even now that maybe her leaving made him see that he _had_ to stop; that he couldn't go on like that. But the fact remained - it was her who had left him, not the other way round, and this kept nagging at her to this day.

Last Christmas was a sad one, even though she had forced herself to go to the party at Division, the party for those like her, who had nowhere to go, no-one who waited for them at home. But even with party hats, a way too colorfully decorated tree and artificial mistle toe, the place served to no other end but to remind her of the workload of the day, the past and present terrorist threats, and Tony. Maybe she should have gotten completely wasted, she had later thought, then she might have enjoyed the celebration like the others did. But having walked out on her own husband because he drank too much, wouldn't it have been heretical for her to do the same?

Instead, she had left the party early with a moderately tipsy Bill Buchanan. He had offered her a ride home, but she politely refused. He was just drunk enough to chance a move on her, maybe he was tipsy _because_ he wanted to chance a move on her, she couldn't tell. Be it as it may, as she got out of the cab, at her door step, there he was, stepping out of a different cab - he had followed her home, "To make sure you got home all right." he explained.

In a moment of weakness, or was it something else, she let him in her apartment and allowed him to sleep on the couch, which he - maybe surprisingly - agreed to.

Bill waited in the lounge while Michelle went to the kitchen to make some coffee. Standing by the coffee machine, Michelle once again thought of Tony. Where was he? What was he doing this Christmas Eve? It didn't take long for her to remember how hastily she had left him, and how sure she was that he had someone else already. _Whoever she is, she'd better take care of him_.

Michelle later found out that Tony had spent that Christmas with a woman named Jen, whom he lived with but did not love. Like hers, his celebration wasn't exactly a happy one either. Tony more or less ignored Jen until she went to bed, then he hugged a whisky bottle and a remote control, surfing the channels and drinking himself to a dreamless sleep.

But back on that Christmas night, in her own kitchen, Michelle was still making the coffee. Soon after she thought of Tony and a different woman, rational thinking and emotions were once again waging a war in her, and another feeling took over; a feeling of anger, deceit, hurt, even though she was the one to leave. Michelle poured the coffee and adjusted her hair, then walked into the lounge. Had Buchanan not fallen asleep on the couch in the meantime, she might have given in to his advances.

She was strangely relieved as she climbed in her empty, cold bed that night, and even though she kept telling herself that she no longer had no obligation to be faithful to Tony, that she was allowed to do what she pleased, she silently cried herself to sleep.

Yanking the memory from her mind, Michelle looked up at Tony. In her eyes, he saw a familiar look and read it even before she opened her mouth to speak.

"Tony..." Michelle began. "Last year, I -"

"Shhh," Tony brought his finger to her lips and kept it there, whispering. "Don't. Don't go there."

Michelle gently moved his hand away, protesting: "I just need to expl-"

"No... You don't." Tony interrupted her. "Look, Michelle..." Tony took a breath, his eyes closed and then opened again. "We both made mistakes. Let's leave it at that, all right?" he pleaded with her.

After a while, Michelle nodded. "All right. But I just need you to know that I love you. And that I won't make the same mistake again."

A faint smile washed over Tony's face. "Yeah. Me neither."

He took the almost empty cup from Michelle's hand, put it on the coffee table. He cupped her face, wanting to tell her something but reconsidered. Instead, he sealed his lips on hers for a second or two before pulling back at the first chime of a church clock nearby. For the second chime, they remained seated quietly and motionless. At the third chime, movement in the corner of his eye made Tony turn to the window and look outside, Michelle following his lead. They sat there, hand in hand, and smiles grew on both their faces. By the ninth chime, it was snowing.

Tony wrapped his arms tightly around Michelle, huddling against her as closely as possible.

As the twelfth chime rang out, Tony kissed her cheek again, and whispered: "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
